


Fashion Baby

by rivers_bend



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Domestic, Established Relationship, London Fashion Week, M/M, Safer Sex, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Harry both doesn’t want to know what the photog is tweeting about the state of his health, and kind of wants it to be the truth. </i>Popstar gets STI tests so he can fuck secret DJ boyfriend without condoms<i> would make a great headline. Except for how it would ruin the whole secret part. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fashion Baby

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know any of the people whose names and public personas are used in this story and neither believe nor mean to imply any of this ever happened. Except the part where Harry had a spot plaster on the inside of his elbow at the beginning of the Fashion East show at LFW this year. That part is true.

It’s a lazy Sunday morning, which is Harry’s favourite kind. He’s cutting up fruit and has a—very reasonable in his opinion—ban on having his dick touched while he’s wielding knives, and Puppy’s sleeping off her morning walk in the other room, so Nick has been forced to google himself to occupy his time. “I see you’re dating Cara again,” Nick says, looking up from his laptop. He’s smiling and rolling his eyes, but there’s a tiny tightness around his lips that isn’t right considering Nick knows better than anyone save Rita and Cara herself how not true that is. 

“I thought I was dating Gemma? Or am I cheating on her with my own sister?” They can get into what Nick’s fretting about after they’ve eaten. For now Harry’s going to play along with Nick’s game.

“There’s a few comments here suggesting you’re having a threesome, but one of those retracted when she found out you and Gem are related.”

Harry laughs, throwing the last of the halved orange segments into the bowl with the cubed pineapple and sliced bananas. “Well, thank god for that.” This breakfast could do with some kiwi fruit, but there is none, so he supposes he’s finished. “Fork or spoon?” he asks. Nick sometimes likes to eat things with spoons that Harry thinks should be eaten with a fork, so he likes to check. 

“Fork,” Nick says. “Is there toast?” 

“Toast after that blowjob you wanted to give me in the shower,” Harry says. “Fruit first.” 

Nick shuts his computer with a hungry grin Harry knows is for neither fruit nor toast, and spears himself a mouthful of orange. 

*

The shower blowjob turns out to be a kitchen-table blowjob, Harry quivering and clutching the table’s edge, Nick bent over his lap, huge hands hot on Harry’s thighs in contrast to the cold porcelain of Nick’s empty bowl against his hip. Harry is definitely not complaining. Especially as this means there’s time in the shower, while Nick’s all warm and pliant after Harry returns the favour with a soapy hand job, for the conversation he’s been trying to have since he got back from LA. 

“I know you’re not jealous of Cara,” he starts. Since he’s got his eyes closed while he rinses the shampoo out of his hair, he can’t see if Nick is giving him the _Where exactly is this going, Harold_ , look, so he continues. “But you know there’s no point you being jealous of anyone, right?” Harry opens his eyes to Nick trying to hide a frown that means he doesn’t know that, not really. 

“Okay,” Nick says, and there’s the tightness back like when he was teasing about Cara earlier. 

With gentle hands, Harry maneuvers Nick under the spray and starts soaping his hair. It’s probably not fair to hit him with the big guns when he’s all wet and sudsy and vulnerable, but Harry’s pretty sure he can’t do this if Nick is looking at him, so he works up a good lather and waits until Nick’s got his eyes closed tight. “I know we said there’s no point being exclusive while I’m away so much—“ Nick’s mouth goes from pinched to pursed like a cat’s bum, but Harry presses on. “I don’t want to, though, is the thing. With anyone.” He doesn’t dare look at Nick’s face. “I mean the odd hand job with one of the boys, or a snog at a party, but I haven’t had sex in months.” 

“Harry,” Nick says, then spits. There’s a trail of shampoo running down his cheek to the corner of his mouth. He twists out from under Harry’s fingers and turns his face to the spray, shoving his hands through his hair, slicking it right back off his face. “Harry,” he says again, turning to look at him, cheeks all flushed from the hot water. 

“Nick,” Harry says right back. He can’t tell from Nick’s tone what he’s trying to say, but Harry really hopes it’s not going to be another speech about how Harry’s only young, and rich and beautiful and can have anyone he wants, and he should be taking advantage of that. Because he is. He _does_. He goes out and meets people and he’s charming and he makes friends, and he has an amazing time. But, stupid and cheesy as it is, sex with someone who knows him the way Nick does has spoiled him a bit for sex with someone he’s never going to see again. 

“Harry,” Nick repeats. He seems a bit stuck.

“I’m not saying you should marry me. I’m not even saying— Okay. Here’s the thing. What we’re doing is— and I know I’m gone all the time, but it’s just— only I’ve been thinking a lot about, about you fucking me. How like— like about not using condoms. How you could, we could, without. And I’m saying that if we got tested. Today, like. All the incubation wait time thingies would be okay. For me.” Harry cannot believe how much he’s fucking this up. He’d try to drown his words in the shower spray, but Nick’s still hogging it all. “If you wanted to,” he finishes lamely. 

Nick is staring at him either like he’s lost his damn mind, or like he’s speaking an alien language Nick’s never heard before. “Wow,” Nick says. And, so quick Harry almost loses his footing completely, Nick yanks him close so Harry’s face is smushed into Nick’s neck and Harry’s choking on shower water. 

“Wha’ the fu’?” Harry struggles past the slick, wet gag of Nick’s throat. Nick loosens the band of arms around Harry’s ribs enough to let him take half a step back.

“I thought you were saying we shouldn’t shag each other anymore,” he says, not quite meeting Harry’s gaze. 

Harry would wonder if he were serious, except he’s known Nick too long and of course he’s serious. Still, he pinches him, hard, right below his nipple for maximum sharpness. “Asshole,” he says for good measure. Nick is _such_ an asshole. As if Harry would ever do that. _Especially_ while they were showering together. 

“Heeey,” Nick protests, batting at Harry’s fingers, which are poised for more pinching should that be necessary. “You just looked so serious, and you _know_ my brain always jumps to the worst-case scenario.” 

Eyes narrowed to fix Nick with his sternest look, Harry considers. At least Harry dumping him is Nick’s worst-case scenario. Maybe they are on the same page after all. “You’re still an asshole,” Harry tells him. 

“I know,” Nick says, ducking his head under the spray to get the rest of the shampoo out. Harry waits until he emerges again. 

“So, what do you think?” Harry watches while Nick’s face does a whole _thing_.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Nick answers. “I mean. Me too, with the incubation thingies. But you don’t—“

Harry still doesn’t have time for this speech. “I don’t have to do anything, I know.” He gets right up next to Nick’s ear, because he’s got a speech of his own prepared. “But I want to feel your dick in my arse. Want you to come inside me. Want to feel it run down my thighs after, all messy and wet.” Harry runs his fingers from Nick’s crack down the back of his leg to illustrate, getting a satisfying shiver in return. 

“Oh,” Nick says weakly. Harry’s speech is clearly superior.

“I’ll make us an appointment, then,” Harry says. He doesn’t mind at all that he almost breaks his neck when Nick tugs him into a sloppy kiss. 

*

Harry’s doctor meets them at Nick’s flat a few days later, with swabs and blood vials and such in a backpack. Housecalls: yet another perk of being a popstar. Or another trial of being followed everywhere by the paps. Some days Harry’s still not sure which. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, charming Nick as effortlessly as she had Harry the first time he’d met her, and cheerily sticking them with needles at Nick’s dining table before sending them off one at a time to piss in a cup. 

“I hope your young man locks his doors,” she says, looking around at the walls while Nick’s gone. “Or I’ll be back in the night to steal his artwork. This is quite a collection.” Harry tries to contain the wild grin at _your young man_ from someone not in their tight circle of in-the-know friends, but he can’t. Nick _is_ his, really and actually _his_ now, and he loves having someone know it.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear that,” Nick says from the doorway, gingerly holding the sample bottle pinched between his forefinger and thumb. “Now I see why Harry picked you as his doctor. Art thieves, the pair of you.” 

“It doesn’t count as stealing if I buy it and give it to you to put in your flat,” Harry reminds him for the hundredth time as Nick comes over and hands the little pot to Dr Ghani. “It’s called a present.”

“This is an argument I’m not getting in the middle of.” Dr Ghani laughs, and finishes putting their samples and her things back in her bag. “I’ll call you this evening with your results.”

“You’re a darling,” Harry says, kissing her cheek before walking her to the door. 

“ _You_ are a flirt,” Nick tells him once the door’s shut behind her. “Is that what you’re wearing to this fashion show?” Harry’s currently sporting a pair of Nick’s gym shorts and a t-shirt that definitely has tea and possibly has jizz on it that he threw on over shower-damp skin when the doorbell went, so, no, it’s not what he’s wearing to the fashion show, and Nick knows it. 

“You just want to get me naked again,” Harry says. 

“See? Flirt. Go put some clothes on, you monster. We’re late for lunch.” 

*

Harry manages to forget the plaster and what it means while they’re eating, only remembering he’s still got it on his uncovered arm when someone in the row behind at Fashion East leans in to tell him one of the photographers is tweeting about it. He uses Nick leaning over him to talk to Pixie to hide pulling the plaster off and stuffing it in his pocket. He both doesn’t want to know what the photog is tweeting about the state of his health, and kind of wants it to be the truth. _Popstar gets STI tests so he can fuck secret DJ boyfriend without condoms_ would make a great headline. Except for how it would ruin the whole secret part. 

“Sweetie,” Pixie whispers in Harry’s ear before sitting back to attend to the models and clothes which are finally walking past. “You’re looking at Nick like he’s a giant fruit plate and you’re about to tuck in.” Since Pixie knows how Harry feels about a fruit plate, he should probably listen to her. Nick keeps looking at him like he’s a loaded jacket potato, though, which makes it hard to stop. 

 

They’ve just got home after dinner when his phone finally rings, Dr Ghani’s number on the screen. Harry’s suddenly certain that he’s going to have something nasty and they won’t be able to do this. He’s always been careful, never fucked anyone without a condom, at least not after that first time when he was fourteen. Not that he counts that, since they were both virgins then, and just enough luckier than they were stupid so that they didn’t end up a teen pregnancy statistic. That would have been a disaster. Harry can’t bear to think about what it would be like, still working at the bakery, trying to raise a kid with a girl who hated him because he’d broken her dreams of being an actual literal brain surgeon. No X-Factor, no band, no world tours. No Nick. Terrible. 

Not that a baby wouldn’t be a disaster now, with everything he and the boys have got coming up the next few years, and Nick still trying to establish himself on the breakfast show, but Nick can’t exactly get him pregnant anyway. Obviously. Though Harry maybe wouldn’t mind that so much, one day, except it’s Nick who’s always talking about being pregnant. He’d be the one to ‘forget’ to take his pill or— 

“You going to answer that?” Nick asks, giving Harry a look like maybe he can read minds and see how thoroughly Harry’s lost the plot in the last eighteen seconds. 

Giving Nick a look back like, _What? It’s totally normal to stare at your phone like it’s a snake about to bite_ , Harry thumbs the answer slider and says, “Hello?” 

“Harry?” Dr Ghani says, then makes him give his date of birth, though she’s talked to him on the phone enough times to know his voice. Who else would be answering it anyway? “All your tests were negative,” she finally tells him once he’s passed the confidentiality tests. 

“Nick’s too?”

“I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid. I have to ring him.” Harry doesn’t have time for that. They’ve been waiting _all day_. He wants to know now.

“Can’t I just hand him the phone? He’s right here.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, Dr Ghani concedes that would be alright. Nick gives her his date of birth as well, and a moment later is grinning and doing something ridiculous with his eyebrows while he gives Harry a thumbs up. Harry thinks they might be sex eyebrows. Nick isn’t very good at sex eyebrows, but Harry wants to have lots of sex with him anyway, so it’s okay. Harry wants to have lots of sex with him _right now_ , but he’s still on the phone. 

“You’re still on the phone,” Harry points out. Nick is saying polite things to the doctor about how nice it was to meet her and how much he appreciates her coming to the house. Harry’s pretty sure his eyebrows now are meant to be disapproving, but Harry doesn’t care. He actually snatches the phone out of Nick’s hand, says thank you and goodbye into it, and hangs up before tossing it on the coffee table. 

“Rude,” Nick says, mock shocked. 

“Time for fucking now,” Harry points out. “I’m sure she’ll forgive me.” 

“But will I forg— mmpf!”

Even the great Nick Grimshaw can’t speak with Harry’s lips sealed over his mouth and his tongue shoved inside. Sexy it’s not, but it’s very effective. And actually, once Nick gives up the struggle to keep speaking, it’s pretty sexy too. They should probably be in the bedroom where the lube and con— oh god. They don’t have to use condoms. “Bedroom _now_ ,” Harry says. He drags Nick all the way there with both hands, only letting go so he can get his clothes off.

Nick’s taken the hint finally, and is getting naked too, but he’s got more layers, and this weird thing where he actually hangs his jackets and shirts up when he takes them off, so Harry’s starkers and waiting by the time the inside of Nick’s elbow emerges, with the little round plaster still there, a visible reminder that Nick said yes to this. That he _wants_ this, even though Harry’s pretty sure he wasn’t subtle about what this means to him. 

While Harry is not usually about interrupting Nick while he’s getting naked, he can’t help pulling his arm away from where it’s helping to undo his jeans, so Harry can touch his lips to the plaster. 

“You are a strange child, Harold,” Nick says, but Nick’s always telling him that, so it’s easy to ignore him and kiss the bit of bone that sticks out next to the plaster, kiss down to where his skin is soft and utterly hairless just below the bend. Nick’s arm is warm and tastes a bit of eucalyptus shower gel when Harry licks it with the tip of his tongue. There’s no point complaining, because Nick would only say it was Harry’s fault for distracting him in the shower this morning, and he wouldn’t be wrong. Not that Harry really minds in any case. He licks up Nick’s bicep, sucks a kiss to the dip just before his armpit, still holding Nick’s arm in both hands. He cares that it’s keeping Nick from getting his jeans the rest of the way off, but he’s not going to let it stop him until he’s properly shown his appreciation for the poor limb the doctor stabbed in aid of Harry getting an arse full of Nick’s jizz.

“If you make out with my armpit I’m not letting you kiss me,” Nick says. Which is ridiculous because he’ll snog Harry after Harry’s had his tongue up Nick’s _arse_ , but Harry also knows it’s true, so he gives Nick his arm and goes back to watching appreciatively as Nick finishes stripping. He loves the little bulge of belly above the waistband of his pants, and the way his legs are _so_ pale where the hems of his briefs don’t quite meet the tan line he still has from Spain. Nick, as per usual, gets awkward when Harry stares too intently, however, and admonishes him to make himself useful and fetch the lube. 

“Romantic,” Harry says, but the idea of getting started on his own fingers with Nick watching him appeals, so he does as he’s told. There’s a whole fresh bottle of the lube he’d mentioned once was his favorite—even though he doesn’t really care that much—which Nick must have picked up some time in the last two days, because it wasn’t there Sunday morning. Which _is_ pretty romantic. Also handy, because the other bottle is more than half empty and Harry has lots of plans that involve lube for the next few days. 

“Oh, I’ll romantic you,” Nick says, thumbs tucked into the elastic of his pants, but not pulling them off as he watches Harry shove the duvet onto the floor. 

“You’d better,” Harry says, even though they’ve stopped making sense. He’s distracted propping pillows to lean against though, so he can give Nick a good view of him fingering himself while Nick takes however much longer he’s planning on taking to get wholly naked. 

Nick’s still watching, pants, to Harry’s dismay, on, as Harry settles back, one knee up, one leg out to the side, and pours lube on his right hand, uses his left to hold his bits out of the way, and starts stroking over his hole, getting it wet and slick. 

“Jesus, Harry,” Nick breathes, not so much as blinking, though he fingered Harry himself only a couple of days ago, so it’s not like Harry’s arse is new to him. 

“Why do you still have pants on?” Harry asks and then sinks his middle finger in to the second knuckle. “We’re not skyping here.” 

That finally gets Nick moving, and he kicks his pants off and walks over to the bed simultaneously. Harry’s maybe a bit envious that he can do it without stumbling. “No,” Nick says, running a hand from Harry’s near ankle to his knee. “We’re not. Hi, by the way. Will it go to your head if I mention that you’re ridiculously average looking when you do that?” 

Harry bursts out laughing, because picturing a radio feature about him with his fingers up his arse will do that to a lad, and it distracts him from what he’s doing. That’s okay, though, because Nick sees that as his cue to take over. Harry thinks that’s an excellent plan, and his laughter fizzles out on a pleased squeak as Nick rubs at his crack with two fingers, slicking them up with the generous amount of lube Harry’s already got there rather than using cold from the bottle. 

Harry appreciates that, likes how warm it is, the tease of Nick getting his fingers wet before he pushes in. He pretends sometimes, to himself as well as Nick, that he hates when Nick teases him, but the reality is that it’s stupidly hot when Nick won’t give him what he wants until he’s shaking with how much he needs it. Now is not the time for that, though, and Nick seems to know it, because he’s pushing in already, one finger and then a second before Harry’s hardly felt the first. “Don’t need too much,” Harry says. He’s been ready since Dr Ghani’s phone call. Probably since she poked him and took his blood. But Nick likes doing this, and Harry’d pay money to meet the man who could say no to Nick Grimshaw’s fingers.  
   
“Not gonna be as smooth without a condom,” Nick says. “Don’t want to hurt you.”  
   
“Won’t,” Harry assures him impatiently. “Just get _in_ me.”  
   
“Always with the wooing,” Nick says, sounding a lot more fond than Harry expects he means to. Not that Harry gets to point this out, because Nick leans in to kiss him, firm and perfect, and Harry’s too busy clutching at his shoulders and rocking down onto Nick’s slowly twisting fingers to come up with a witty retort. 

Even though it’s not much longer before Nick pulls away to slick his cock, tells Harry to pull his legs back, Harry’s thighs are shaking when he does. But the stretch in his hamstrings feels good, brings him back to what they’re about to do. Nick watches Harry’s face as he strokes himself, two, three, times with a slick hand, keeps watching him as he leans in, lines himself up. 

“Still want this, popstar?” Nick asks, voice shaking. Harry can’t tell if he’s looking for an out himself or just trying to make sure Harry has one if he needs one, but Harry’s beyond being anything but honest with him. 

“More than anything,” Harry answers, getting the hot, blunt push of Nick’s cock in response. 

Nick was right; it’s not as smooth without a condom. Penetration is a stuttered series of tiny pushes instead of a thick glide, and Harry has to close his eyes against how much that makes him _feel_. It’s sentimental and probably half in his imagination, but he needs to catalogue this. Mark the differences the way he does in each new arena they play in. Hold onto it. 

“Haz?” Nick murmurs, stopping, stilling his hips. 

“’S good,” Harry says, dragging his eyes back open. “Go.” He takes a breath. “Does it feel different to you, too?” 

Nick stares for a moment, then answers, “Hot,” sinking in another centimeter before pausing again to rub wet fingers around Harry’s hole. 

Harry knows he means literally, but he can’t help smiling, saying, “You don’t have to flatter me, I’m already a sure thing.” As he was hoping it would, it makes Nick laugh, a sharp chuckle that pushes him the rest of the way into Harry’s arse. 

So, so full, Harry groans softly, lets his legs drop around Nick’s waist. That frees his hands to run up Nick’s arms to his shoulders, touch his face, pink cheeked and wide-eyed. 

“Christ,” Nick murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. It’s not so different now Nick’s inside, but Harry’s still so _aware_. The weight of weeks spent wondering if he should ask, building up to it, all the waiting, what it means that Nick said yes, all of that is behind Nick’s thrust, behind the drag of him pulling out and pushing in again. It’s a lot. Almost more than Harry can take.

And then, it isn’t. It’s just friction. Warm and familiar and good. The shift of Nick’s muscles under Harry’s calves and palms, the sound of their breathing, the pressure, the ache, the pull in the small of his back. It’s the wet sound of lube and the challenge in Nick’s eyes as Harry lifts his hips to try to make him go faster, the smell of precome and sweat and _sex_. And all of that is _them_ , what they do, the ways they’ve learned to navigate what happens when they come crashing together, and that’s even better than trying to make this about being a first time. It’s why Harry wanted this. Because Nick isn’t about firsts anymore. He’s knowing what to expect and wanting it anyway. 

They move together in sync, one or the other adjusting when it starts to go wrong, Nick knowing that it means please stay an extra second on the in stroke when Harry tilts his hips up, Harry that he should clench when Nick goes slow and long on the out. Neither of them minding when they’re both getting closer and they stop trying to make it _good_ and they’re just going for it, sometimes going too far so Nick falls out, has to fumble to get back in again. They kiss, and Nick nuzzles Harry’s cheeks and throat with the tip of his nose, and they swear and grunt and Harry doesn’t care that Nick would rib him forever if he said it out loud—it feels like coming home. 

But despite that, it’s still dirty when Nick starts fucking hard, faster than Harry can keep up with, telling Harry how he’s going to come inside him, how messy it’s going to be. So very dirty, and just what Harry wanted, and he rakes fingernails down Nick’s ribs on his way to get at his dick, jerk himself in ragged counter-tempo to Nick’s thrusts. He comes while Nick’s still quivering between his thighs, holding himself up on shaky arms, cock still inside him going soft, because they don’t have to be careful with a condom. 

It’s even dirtier when Nick does pull out, dick quickly replaced with fingers dragging through the slippery wetness in Harry’s crack, one dipping inside like he can’t help wanting to feel where he’s come. “Okay?” he asks softly, going a bit deeper when Harry doesn’t flinch at the touch. 

Harry shivers, but says, “Yeah.” Because it _is_ okay. Tender but not sore, and Nick feeling him up is always good, but knowing he’s playing where Harry’s wet with his come makes it just as much better as Harry had hoped. “Don’t—“ he says. “Just don’t—not hard, but I like you feeling it.” 

“Thought you would,” Nick murmurs, moving his finger in and out in slow, shallow movements. It’s as good as saying he loves it, from a man notorious for complaining about the wet spot. Usually he’d already be getting a facecloth to clean Harry up, but instead he rolls on his back and pulls Harry in to spoon at his side, reaching the duvet off the floor to keep them warm. It’s sticky, but nice. Especially when Nick starts stroking Harry’s hip and the curve of his arse, fingers edging closer to the mess again.

“Can’t stay away, can you?” Harry teases softly. 

“Shush,” Nick says. His fingers trace along the crease between cheek and thigh, dipping between to where Harry can feel jizz trickling out to tickle him. 

“You can’t,” Harry says. Nick’s fingers feel good, and Harry reaches back to press them there, counteract the tickling.

“I can,” Nick argues, but he doesn’t fight Harry’s hold. In fact, he nudges up behind Harry’s nuts with two knuckles. 

“You love that your come is dripping out of my arse right now.” Harry’s delighted and doing nothing to keep it out of his voice. It had been difficult to tell if Nick was simply indulging his kinks or if he might be into this part of it too, but Harry reckons now he has his answer. “You’re just as dirty as I am.”

“No one’s as dirty as you are,” Nick says, but then he licks Harry’s face from jaw to temple, belying his words. 

“Ugggh,” Harry says, wiping his face on Nick’s shoulder. Nick just mashes Harry more tightly against his side. One of them should definitely get a facecloth soon, but Harry doesn’t want to move and doesn’t want to let Nick go. 

The last thing Harry remembers before falling asleep is Nick telling him he’s going to regret not having a shower. 

*

It’s still mostly dark when Harry wakes, thirsty, hungry, and totally regretting not having a shower. Come mixed with lube is actually completely disgusting, especially when it’s soaked a sheet which is now sticking your ballsac to your thigh. But he doesn’t regret the no condom thing _at all_ , because it turns out Nick’s just as dirty as he is, and now they have a choice—condoms if they want easy cleanup, no condoms if they want Nick to fill him up with come. Or if they want Harry to fill Nick up with come. Harry looks at Nick, with his rumpled hair and his eyelashes fanned against freckled cheeks, and wonders if he would be up for that. Harry will have to ask him. 

“Hey, babe,” Harry whispers, rocking Nick gently with a hand on his ribs. “Come have a shower with me. There’s something I want to talk to you about.” 

“Nooo,” Nick moans, not opening his eyes. “Sleeping.” 

“No, but yes.” Harry nudges him again. “You’ll like it, I promise.” 

   
   
 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to molliejupiter for looking this over for me <3
> 
> for more in this verse, see my [ask box series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/69577).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Papa-paparazzi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166264) by [rivers_bend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend)
  * [[Podfic] Fashion Baby](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087841) by [ofjustimagine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofjustimagine/pseuds/ofjustimagine)




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